Page 50 of Third Time Lucky

“I loved them.”

Her smile is shy. “You helped.”

I’m on my feet before I realize it. I need to go. There’s an ache in my chest that isn’t supposed to be there and I’m sure these two don’t need a third wheel hanging around while they’re having a moment. I glance over my shoulder toward my balcony, then back to his apartment, wondering which option would be less obvious.

Getting kabobbed would be pretty obvious. And there’s no bouncy castle to break my fall here.

“You’re leaving?”

“Have to,” I tell him apologetically, still clutching the napkin in my hand like a lifeline. “So much time and so little to do. Strike that. Reverse it.”

From his blank look I know he doesn’t get the Wonka reference. I want to ask who raised him, but then I remember his mother’s voice on the phone.

Not even Wonka? What is wrong with her?

“It’s early,” Elliot argues, still looking confused.

“I know, but I really do have to work. Plus, I’ve got that big date later, so I might need to find a dry cleaner.”

Audience boos.

Or they would, if my life was a show about a man with a foot stuck in his mouth, filmed before a live studio audience.

“Oh.” Elliot gets to his feet, Rue still clinging like a lemur. “Right. Well, thanks for coming over.”

“Are you kidding?” I give them my high beams. “I never eat like this. If it weren’t for prepackaged tortellini and delivery, I’d starve.”

Especially now that I can’t stop at Tani’s just in time to share her dinner. I really took her for granted. And her giant pots of spiced heaven.

“Thanks for catching me.” Rue’s smile dips. “Oh, but we didn’t get to sing.”

“Next time,” I promise.

When I reach the door, Elliot calls my name. He sets Rue down and tells her to wash up in the bathroom before he joins me. “We still on for that beer tomorrow? My sister is coming here with her daughter so Rue can sleep in her own bed.”

Again I say, “Huh?”

He takes my hand, tugging me out into the private hall. “I think we should. It would give us a chance to talk about last night.”

“Do we have to?” I ask plaintively. “I think we’re good now, Elliot. We broke pancake, which is close to bread. You apologized, multiple times. You’ll be spending your day on a chlorine-scented Lord of the Flies-like island, where parents are tested to the limits of their tolerance. That is way more than enough mea culpa for me-a.”

He steps closer, that crooked smile of his making my blood race. “Is that why you aren’t coming with us? You don’t think you can handle it?”

“Please. My tolerance is the stuff of legend. You, on the other hand, might need a drink when it’s over. I’ll leave an orange soda on the balcony.”

“Funny.” He reaches out, as if to touch my shoulder or squeeze my arm, but then drops his hand when he sees me brace. “That’s why we need to have that beer. One drink and some conversation is all I’m asking for.”

“Okay, okay. Tomorrow.”

He nods and steps back, giving me room to escape. “Joey?”

“What?”

“Be careful on your date tonight, and call if you need anything. Men can be idiots.” He says that last bit with enough emphasis for me to know who he’s referring to.

Tonight isn’t the problem anymore. He’s just made sure that no matter how perfect date number one is, all I’ll be thinking about is tomorrow.

One drink. At Finn’s Pub. With Elliot.

You know that cartoon meme of the guy sitting down while a café burns around him? I finally get that meme.

This is fine.

---